


Coffee

by CursedCursingViking



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Twins, Coffee, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dating, Evil Twins, F/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedCursingViking/pseuds/CursedCursingViking
Summary: Claire Johnson fancies her co-professor Thomas. One day, she is called to participate in an excavation, where she meets her crush's twin, the excavations sponsor. While the handsome brothers might look alike, they are fundamentally morally different.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyOxIsBroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOxIsBroken/gifts).



> TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains sexual assault and mentions of rape, following non-consensual drug use.

_Hello students,_

_I deeply apologize, but classes are cancelled until next Thursday, as I have been called in to participate in an excavation where my insight is wanted. Team two, your assignments’ due date is postponed to Monday eleventh. All, please use your extra time to catch up on other classes and take care of yourself. Consider the courses you have with me temporarily paused._

_I will see you soon,  
Prof. Claire Johnson_

Thus sounded the e-mail that set off one hell of a week. The young professor of Old Norse’s insight was needed at a newfound grave a little east of Edinburgh, so she quickly packed her suitcase and rushed to the airport. On her way, she stopped by the old buildings of the university to grab her favourite books, tools and resources. Her backpack was heavy, but her smile was big as she walked through the halls when a voice stopped her.

“Claire? Aren’t you supposed to have a reading now? The Norse Myth Appreciation thing?” His voice was deep and resonant, and she turned around to face him - an English Literature professor named Thomas. Or professor Hiddleston, as his students called him.

“Hm? Oh yeah! I usually have that now, but I’ve been called to an excavation in Eyemouth, so I won’t be back until next week.”

There was a regretful sheen in his bright blue eyes as he smiled at her. “Aw no!” he complained, “I had planned to go! The students say it’s lots of fun to hear you read the old sagas. I’ve been told you do voices,” he winked - what a charmer! He had been since Claire’s first day there, not long ago. He had been teaching there for years now.

She chuckled nervously at the mention of her slightly childish class - she had scored room 12 in the new wing, which had some old sofas and comfy bean bags. For a break and some extra credit, the students could come on Friday afternoons and hear her read simplified versions of the Eddas and Icelandic sagas. Like storytime in kindergarten, but she liked it. The atmosphere was calm and casual and offered her a break from the busy campus. She was surprised professor Hiddleston would be interested in it.

“I do indeed do voices,” she admitted, “but you will have to catch it next week then.”

“I can’t wait,” he smiled, then hesitated a bit. “Claire, when you get back, would you maybe like to grab a cup of coffee? Like, um, like a date?”

She had been ready to go, but his words stopped her before she could even take a single step. Ever since the first day she met him, and he had insisted he called her Tom, and not by his more formal title, she had hoped for and dreamt about getting more and more casual with him, to the point they became domestic around each other. And now she realised, he was actually interested in her as well.

As she thought, her smile slowly spread across her face. “Yeah, I’d love that!” she smiled.

“Great!” He smiled even wider than her. “I’ll see you next week then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you!” she said, and then continued down the hall, even more giddy than before.

~

He arrived Wednesday. Stepped out of his absurdly expensive car onto the wet and muddy soil. The photographers and reporters arrived in vans and SUVs, hefty shoes and raincoats, much more fit for the current conditions than his attire was. He was surprised his silk tie didn’t crinkle up from the cold and the veil-like rain.

And there she was. An archaeologist, whose curious fingers were covered by latex gloves as she carefully handled the artefact in her possession. She was bent over, putting her sweet ass on display for him. What a slut. It would probably take him two dirty martinis and she’d be riding him all night. He tended to have that effect on women.

“Mister Hiddleston, right this way, sir,” the humble man from the charity urged him along, almost bowing. But then again, he tended to have that effect on men. Especially when he had donated more than enough money for them to fund whatever they needed. In this case, the excavation of a Viking burial site. After the initial examination and excavation, the retrieved pieces of history would be shipped off to a Norwegian university, where most of the professors and archaeologists were from.

He was there because the excavation was sponsored by his company. Donating a bit here and there to different charities usually kept people blissfully unaware of his more… immoral… business methods.

A reporter spoke up. She would be writing an extensive article on the excavation, and would of course(probably against financial compensation) mention William Hiddleston’s generosity. Her coworker directed his camera towards him, and the interview began.

“Mr Hiddleston, how does funding these charities benefit you as a business owner?” the reporter asked. Her hair was in a tight ponytail. A dyke probably. Or a domme. Anyway, not worth his time.

“The research, and following understanding, of our ancestors, provide a better understanding of why we are who we are today. And especially cases like these, where we get insight into the relationship between the Saxons and the Northmen, we might even learn forgotten trade secrets and business tips. If we can set up a parallel to our current society, and fulfil that picture, we can improve our business models,” he was waxing like his brother, William thought. His twin, who had decided to stay and teach at university, after double majoring in classics or whatever irrelevant ancients he cared for. William himself had focused on business and law, and quickly risen to power in some of the most lucrative organisations until he one day started his own.

He kept on feeding the journalist poetic business gospel until he had properly sold his lies to her, and she had enough material to create a gorgeous and praiseful article about him. Now, on to the boring stuff. He walked around and made pleasant small talk with whoever was seeking out his presence, while the cameras snapped fitting shots of the corporation leader in the archaeological dig. The reporter had moved on to talk with some of the professors, first, a middle-aged woman from the Norwegian institute, with deep furrows of concentration in her suntanned face, and second, with the morsel he noticed earlier. He moved closer to drop some eaves.

“Professor Claire Johnson,” the reporter’s sharp voice introduced the girl to William and the camera. “You are the only professor from England on this site, how come?”

The girl was smiling. Cute. “Well, Scandinavia has a bigger selection of Viking-experts, and the majority of the work will be done in Norway. I’m here because I specialise in the Vikings’ impact on the English language. The blade I have been called in to examine, has some very intricate text etched into it. The runes are Norse, but the text itself is not. It is closer to a hybrid between Old Norse and Old English, so my job is to try and translate it.”

She looked so excited about what she was doing, however nerdy it was. He fazed out again when the reporter asked her if she could show what she had found out so far. Then Claire’s soft voice reached his ears again, though he mostly sifted her words and their meaning out.

“...bróðir striith enda banasár…”

Her words made him do nothing but wonder what her moans would sound like.

The reporter wrapped up with the Englishwoman and went on the interrogate her next victim, one of William’s coworkers.

William took the chance to go and chat the professor up. “So, are you going to Norway with the team when you finish up here?” he asked.

She smiled shyly. She felt like she had seen him before, but she wasn’t sure where. “No, I’m almost finished with my work here. With the resources I have got, I can work from home - and I have to be back to teach tomorrow,” she explained.

“Oh really? Where do you teach?” Asking about a woman’s life would make her more likely to take interest in him. Not that her interests mattered to him once he knew what he wanted. But having a willing woman was just so much easier than bringing out the roofies.

“At Cambridge,”

“My brother teaches there,” he said without thinking.

“Hiddleston, of course!” she hit her forehead once she realised. While Thomas had a red, cosy beard, William was clean-shaven. It suited him. Other than the hair, facial and cranial, they were indistinguishable. Both covering(what Claire could only assume was)pure lean muscle with expensively fitted suits. God, a threesome with the two of them would really be the work of a fallen angel.

She caught her naughty thought and pushed it aside. What the fuck? She was going on a date with Thomas, like, next week! And now she was gushing over his brother? Gross. She scolded herself.

“Say,” William continued, “would you like to join me for the banquet tonight? We’re celebrating the charity’s work. It’s just a small cocktail party,” he explained and waved it off casually.

She smiled apologetically. “I should probably just go home - I don’t have a dress with me either.” She shook her head, but William put out his hand.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take you shopping when you’re done here,” he assured her.

He knew he wanted her to come with him. He knew what DJ had been hired for the party, he knew what they would be serving, and he knew he would want her there. He knew he wanted her.

She made a cringing grimace as if she wasn’t sure of his proposal.

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” It sounded like he ordered her to change her mind, but his smile was sugary sweet.

She smiled politely and went back to her work.

After a little while, more and more people in the portable office went to take their lunch break. Claire joined them in the also-portable breakroom/container, which was more stuffed than usual. The reporters from online papers were all gone to publish their pictures and small articles, but the printed journalist and her crew had only taken a break from furiously typing and editing, with the rest of the people on site. William was still there, too.

The brewer on the counter flashed its little red light to let the people know the coffee was ready. Claire was in deep thought, and most people were in deep conversations. Someone passed her a cup, as she absently munched her sandwich.

Once she was done, she took the mug and went back to work. Thank god, there was only labelling and logging left, she thought, as her mind lost concentration. It had been a long week.

As she transferred her data from her notes to her laptop, the lab assistant came by and refilled the professors’ coffee mugs. As she got closer and closer to the end of her work, her mind grew fuzzier and fuzzier around the edges - a strange tiredness enveloped her, while warmth spread from within. Warm like the hand on her arm. Why did she react so slowly?

She looked up at the hand’s owner - William.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked with a tender voice.

Oh yeah. They were going shopping, Claire remembered. “Just a moment,” she said. Wait, was she going with him? When did she decide on that?!

Her phone buzzed and loosened up her mind enough to think clearly. A text from Tom.

_Claire, please call me._

The message was straight forward and orderly, and she couldn’t help but follow its gentle yet stern command.

~

Tom was in his office back at the university. His laptop was open, he had been scrolling through his newsfeed when it happened. When he saw them. He wasn’t one to get jealous of his brother. William could keep his crimes and wealth to himself, for all Thomas cared. But he couldn’t let his sociopathic brother force Claire into that world. Thankfully, she called him like he asked.

“Claire Johnson,” her voice was plain and void of emotion, which confirmed Tom’s speculations.

“Hi, Claire… Listen, I know this sounds outlandish, but be careful around William.”

“Wha- Why? How do you know-” she sounded confused.

“I saw a photo on a web article. Now, please, get away from him. Has he said anything to you?” It was clear he was concerned, but he wasn’t sure if Claire picked up on it.

“He invited me to go to a party with him,” she answered submissively.

Bastard! Tom thought. “Don’t go,” he warned. He didn’t want to scare the girl, but he had to do something. “Claire, I know my brother. He isn’t right in his mind. The only reason he isn’t in jail is that he pays, fucks, kills or drugs his way out of it.”

Something snapped for Claire. “Drugs?”

As Tom elaborated, Claire was already rushing through the lab. She knew what he meant. “He drugs women if they put up the smallest bit of a fight. He can slip roofies into anything, he’s like a ghost when he doesn’t want to be seen!” He was getting angry.

Claire didn’t answer. She opened a cabinet and scrambled through the bottles of chemicals. Maybe that was why she was so tired and fussy? She found what she was looking for, grabbed her mug and phone, and locked herself in the bathroom. With shaking hands, a paper towel and a pipette, she confirmed her fears. She had been drugged. Something in her coffee was reacting with the acid, turning the splotches on the paper a startlingly bright red.

Her phone was silent, and she prayed Tom was still there. “Tom?”

His deep voice was a cliff in her sea of panic. “Claire?”

“Please, come pick me up,” she begged with tears in her eyes. What on earth was happening to her, making her feel so vulnerable?

When she left the bathroom she remembered. It was William. Whatever he had given her, it made her unable to say no. In a state of dissociation, she cleaned up, said goodbye to her coworkers, and followed the CEO to his car, where he buckled her seatbelt for her.

He was treating her with gentle gloves as if she was a porcelain doll he was scared of breaking, despite his desire to tie her to his bed and fuck her raw.

Everything went too fast, yet not fast enough, as William led her through countless stores in Edinburgh, helping her in and out of elegant, yet skimpy, dresses. His hands were warm and gentle on her skin, and she found herself relishing more and more in his touch.

Wait, what? There must have been something more than just a roofie in her coffee, she thought absently.

When he finally found a dress he liked to see her in, he crept up behind her. “Gorgeous,” he whispered in her ear, and she fell back against his chest. His voice was just like Thomas’. Gentle and purring. His hands were warm. Why wasn’t she resisting?

His hands trailed from her middle, down over her stomach and around her hips to her ass. They made their way under the hem of the flared skirt and up her thighs to her ass and centre. His long fingers intruded, but she didn’t fight him. She couldn’t, as his digits spread her labia and felt the soft velvet of her most sensitive skin.

“Just perfect,” he purred and withdrew himself. “Take it off,” he ordered and she obeyed. He left her in the cold and dim dressing room to go pay for the dress.

Claire’s phone buzzed again. Tom requested to know her location.

_Thomas has requested to know your location. Allow/Deny?_

Allow, allow, ALLOW! For fuck’s sake, press allow! She was screaming inside - Why was she so slow?

_Thomas can now see your location. Location Sharing will turn off automatically in one hour_

~

The light was dim but the air was warm as William drew Claire close in a slow grind to the music. The floor wobbled under her feet, but he held her tight, so no one noticed she was way loopier than a cocktail would make her. Her mind despised his touch, but her body relished in it. What was that warmth that spread within her?

The minutes and the small talk passed by without her, but with every song the DJ put on, William drew closer to her. His hands roamed over her back and her sides, tracing any curve they could find. His scent was comforting and Claire felt unconsciousness creeping in around the corners of her mind. She got more and more sleepy as she leaned into her crush’s brother, who the last awake part of her mind was sure would … rape her. She paused at the thought. Why didn’t she fight if she knew what was coming? What had he given her?...

William decided she was finally sufficiently drowsy, and he leaned in. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone,”

~

Tom had had to stop for gas on his impatient trip to Edinburgh, and he took the opportunity to ask to know where Claire was. She was awake enough to live-share her location, and he followed the quickest route his phone suggested.

45 minutes later he found himself at the entrance to the rented-out bar, and a flash of his ID, clearly saying ‘Hiddleston’, later, he was in the middle of the buzzing party. Across the room, he spotted his brother. And Claire. He thought his heart stopped when she turned around in her cute dress, dark green and satiny, but the rush of testosterone and adrenaline sobered him up when he saw his brother’s bright but shallow eyes.

Williams slithery arm wrapped around Claire’s middle as he lead her towards the door, crossing paths with Thomas midway.

William smirked. “Long time no see, brother dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want nothing to do with you, and I want Claire to have nothing to do with you,” Thomas began, but Williams cocky smile grew wider.

“Oh, but Claire and I have so much to do.” His arm was around her waist, and he gave her a small squeeze. “Right, Claire?”

She looked at Thomas and tried to open her mouth but nothing happened. William leaned in and kissed her temple tenderly, and she saw how Tom wrought his face into a threatening scowl.

“I’m taking Claire back to Cambridge, and if you ever contact her again, I will end you.” His words were as precise as his movements, as he grabbed Claire’s upper arm and drew her close to his chest. Luckily, William didn’t hold on too tight and let Thomas take the girl- He knew better than to cause a scene.

Claire was vaguely surprised that William didn’t hold her back, but she couldn’t see the disappointment and anger on his face. She had trouble imagining how Thomas could end someone like William.

But apparently, the threat worked, as William ended his pursuit of the girl - not without a snide remark in Claire’s ear, though.

“Always the saviour, isn’t he?” he taunted, but Thomas ignored him and was quick to pull the girl with him. As he walked to the door, his brother called after him, loud enough for the whole bar to hear the threat, but not realise its context; “one day, brother. One day.”

The first tear of relief fell from Claire’s eyes as the cold evening air hit her face and bare arms and legs, even though they had been pressing on since she spotted Tom across the crowded room. He helped her into the car before they drove off.

“Are you alright, Claire?” Tom asked carefully when they left the town.

Tears were streaming from her closed eyes. “I can’t,” she whispered, “I can’t, Tom.”

His voice wavered too as he promised, “I’ll take you home, Claire. I’ll take care of you.”

~

A few days later, Claire felt completely conscious again. Tom had explained the situation discreetly to their boss, and extended her week off. After a doctors appointment and a few therapy sessions, she was back in room 12 in the new wing. Sitting in the middle of the room in the big armchair, she leaned back and opened the book in her lap.

“Once, the mighty hammer, Mjölnir, which was forged by the Ivalde-brothers for a bet with Loki, was stolen from its owner, Thor, while he was napping under a tree, after a long trip around Asgard,”

She looked up at the class - everyone from Carrie and Morgan, high alert in their pile on a bean bag, to Arden, half-asleep escaping the stress of being knee-deep in a double major. Oh, she had missed them.

“The gods sent Loki, the fiery trickster, out to scout who could have stolen the hammer, dressed in Freyja’s bird hide. It was the Jotun Trym, who had taken it, and with it, he could best the gods, come Ragnarok. Loki asked, “what would it take for you to return Mjölnir?” And Trym said: “if I may marry Freyja, my wedding gift shall be the hammer”,”

A ‘click’ interrupted her again, and she looked up to see the door open. With a kind smile, Tom walked in and shut the door behind him. He took a seat in the back of the class and gestured for Claire to continue.

She smiled and returned to the book, putting on a dramatic, high pitched voice for the goddess. “Loki returned with the Jotuns message, but Freyja refused to partake in the deal. “I will never wed again!” - Her husband, Od, had disappeared many years ago,”

The lesson passed quickly in the casual atmosphere. “... And so was Heimdall’s plan carried out, by the cunningness of Loki and the force of Thor. But Trym wasn’t the only Jotun Thor killed - next week, I will tell you about Idunn’s apples, and how Skadi came to hate Loki with a passion,” Claire teased and dismissed the class. Carrie and Morgan stumbled out of the bean bag, waking Arden in the process. The students slowly filtered towards the door, but Thomas made his way to Claire and smiled with cheerful anticipation.

“So, coffee?”


End file.
